


The One That Got Away

by Celinarose



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 42nd Hunger Games, Gen, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:50:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celinarose/pseuds/Celinarose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen wasn't the first to rebel against the Capitol. They were just better at hiding it, back in the 42nd Hunger Games...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Evans, Capitol, Water

"F/N?"

A h/c head bobs out of the water, and you look up and laugh at your mother.

"You'll catch a cold." She reprimands.

"You know I won't, Mom." You tell her.

"Sweetheart, come on. Mrs Evans will soon be here. If you want to work at the designer's, this is your last chance." She sighs, "F/N. You know how difficult a weaver's life is. Not the life your Mama or I want for you. Being a designer is a big opportunity." She sits down near the edge of the pond and looks at it longingly, as if it was a long lost dream for her.

"Now get out of the water and change into something dry!" She says, suddenly snapping back to reality.

You grumble and climb out of the little pond, staggering back home in your soaking clothes. Mama has already laid out your soft silk gown in spring green.

Truth be told, you don't want to meet Mrs Evans. You want to stay and help your mothers. But you have a knack for art and design, and Mom keeps hoping you will get a job as an assistant to a designer, and maybe even work your way up into the Capitol.

The Capitol, where there is no Reaping. Every mother and father in every district of Panem dreads that word like the plague. The day when their child might be taken away from them, and virtually slaughtered, in a cold and cruel manner. They curse the revolutionaries who rebelled against the Capitol forty two years ago, after which this ruthless tradition had started.

Two children from each district, called tributes, offered up to the Capitol for its gratification. Almost as if the Capitol were some kind of great beast, like you had heard in the legends. A monster, that protected the territories, but at a terrible cost.

You try not to remind yourself that the Reaping is only two weeks away, as you put on your dress, taking care not to wrinkle it and style your hair in an elaborate bun.

"I hope you can impress the great Mrs Evans." You say to your reflection, as you tuck the little strands of hair behind your ear.

The doorbell rings. You take a deep breath and steady yourself as you hear Mom's footsteps head towards the door.

You step into the sitting room, trying not to wrinkle your clothes. Mama pecks you on the cheek and reassures you, as Mom shows in Mrs Evans.

'She has too much perfume on.' You think to yourself as she enters.

'That blue organza does not go with the orange cotton underlay.' is the second thing that comes to your mind. You quickly stop yourself. You remind yourself that she is the fashion expert and you have no experience or right to critique her.

You put on a sweet smile and greet her. She sit on the couch and begins firmly.

"Now, dearie, I have no time to waste, so if you quickly show me your work. I will be happier." Her expression is sickeningly sweet, and you resist the urge to tell her so. Instead you nod, and quickly get your portfolio from your room.

In it are all your designs, everything you have drawn since you were four.

You hurry back and lay the folder in front of Mrs Evans. She picks it up and begins to flip.

"That is the one she drew when she was ten. She said it was inspired by the lake in front of..." Mom begins but she is cut off.

"Shhh Shh dear." The woman on the couch hushes rather condescendingly. She continues to turn the pages, raising an eyebrow at some of the designs and crinkling her nose at some others.

A few minutes pass and you feel the tension in the room rise. Suddenly, the file is snapped shut.

You look at Mrs Evans hopefully. She doesn't return your gaze. She simply gets up and leaves. Mom looks as if she is about to cry, and Mama tries to console her. You pick up your portfolio and return to your room.

You tell Miara the next day, at the beach.

"Mrs Evans is very tough to crack. Your designs are brilliant, no matter what she thinks." She assures. You just shrug.

"I hate it when you mope. it doesn't suit you F/N. Wipe the frown off your face and I'll race you to the buoy."

Trust Mia to make you feel better. You get up and head into the water.

It feels like home, when you splash in the cool liquid and swim past Mia, deeper into the endless blue. It is calming and exhilarating at the same time. You reach the floating buoy and wait for Miara to catch up. She swims over, laughing and you kick a little water in her direction, making a loud splash.

Mama always called you a child of the sea, while Mom wondered if you were a mermaid in a past birth. You love the water, and everything to do with it. People tell you it reflects in your designs too. They are flowing and soft, and often blue or green.

It helps you forget Mrs Evans. Not just Mrs Evans, but all your worries. So much so, that you barely remember or care that it is the Reaping the next day, when you go to bed one night.


	2. Reaping, Lies, Run

The atmosphere itself reminds you, what you have tried to forget, however. As soon as you wake up, you feel the fear and unsettling calm in the air, emanating from every heart.  
Reaping day. Twenty four fate less children will receive their death sentence. The very thought makes you shudder.  
You put on your clothes. Your Reaping dress, that you have worn for the occasion, for years now. It reeks of the hot sun beating down on backs of the hundreds of children of your district, of every district, as they hope to not hear their name on the microphones.  
You quietly go downstairs and eat the breakfast set out. Mama and Mom do not utter a word.  
You hug them both and walk towards the Field, as they follow.  
You are soon lost among the crowd, but you catch a glimpse of Mia, and shoot her a small smile, all that you can muster.  
You stand in a line, more out of habit than anything else, and before you know it, the peacekeeper pricks your finger and you head for another line.  
The noise eventually lessens, and an extravagantly dressed man from the Capitol takes the stage.  
He steps onto the stage, and begins to give his usual speech about the history of the Games and their importance. You, and every other child has heard the same words over and over again. You turn your head and catch Mia's eye. She fake yawns, and you stifle a small laugh. Your attention is drawn back to the man when he says the well worn, "May the odds be ever in your favour."  
"Now, for the tributes. Ladies first."  
He walks to the side of the stage and picks up a slip from the large glass bowl. He returns to the microphone and opens it.  
"F/N L/N"  
You feel the blood rushing in your ear, and your vision turns blurry. The other children form a path as the Peacekeepers come to drag you on to the stage.  
You eyes look straight but you cannot see a thing. You think of all that you have heard about the games. The arenas, the bloodbaths, the cannon, the people in the Capitol cheering. Twenty four children at each other's throats, each trying to be the last one alive. Through the haze you hear the announcer call out another name, but you don't care. The sound of the waves and wind keeps you from feeling the pain. You go absolutely numb, and you finally turn to the sea of people in front of you.  
You watch as peacekeepers go into the crowd and surround a boy, a few years younger than you. You try to recall any memory you have of the boy with the red hair and blue eyes, as he is led to the stage, but you can think of nothing. He is a complete stranger.  
Your eyes finally focus on Mia in the crowd, who has tears rolling down her cheeks. You see Mama in the distance, supporting Mom. You cannot bear to look at them, so you turn away, and the Peacekeepers lead you out.  
You are given a large room, complete with furnishings you would have never dreamt of owning. An hour passes, maybe two. You lose track of time as you sit on the cushioned chair, and try to process the events of the past few hours. The door opens and Peacekeepers push in a dishevelled Miara Stone. She hugs you tight, and you see her trying to hold back the tears.  
"F/N." She mutters. You hug her back, not knowing what to say.  
"Hey." You manage to say.  
Silence.  
"I'll see you again." You assure her, hoping your voice sounds more confident than you are. Before you can say much more, you are interrupted and the men in white suits take her away.  
_I'll see you again._ You repeat the words twice more, when your mothers come to visit. But you don't believe, neither do they.  
The day passes in a fog, and you don't realise it, until you are on told to board train to the Capitol.  
Then it hits you like a brick, the impact of the whole day. This is it. The end. You're leaving. Going away, to never see your home here again. You'll play to your death for the enjoyment of the Capitol. It is war, you think. The cruelest kind of war, and the Capitol always wins. No. Not always. Not this time. An odd thought strikes you, and you run. Away from the Peacekeepers, away from the hated train. The people of your district stand in awe and shock. The Peacekeepers try to push through the crowd. But the people now fight back. They hold them back, as you run for your life. You feet carry you through the town, past your house, Miara's, past the sweet shop you loved, past the cloth factories. You stop. The sea water washes over your feet. You dig your toes into the warm sand, willing the waves to carry you away into their depths.


	3. Swim, Float, World

The familiar feeling of home. It draws you in. You walk, then wade into the water. When the ground falls away, you swim automatically. Second nature. And you swim deeper. Away. The land behind you disappears. You pay no heed. You swim for what seems like hours. For the first time, the water exhausts you. You cannot keep up with the waves. Your arms start to ache, as do your feet. Your vision turns blurry.  
Through the daze you make out a large plank of wood. Floating towards you. You gather all your remaining strength and grab on to it. You haul yourself on it. The sun shine down, and dries you in a few minutes. You realise the irony of the situation. Stranded in the middle of the sea. The water has always been your best friend. Now your are stuck in the middle of the same sea that you loved, without food or water. You cannot steer the plank, so you float around for a few hours. Your throat is parched and your stomach growls.  
You shift your weight and the wood cracks. You notice one part of the plank is weaker. You struggle to finally break it off. An odd sort of oar, but ur is better than nothing, as you push it into the water and begin to row. The sun sets. You can not bring yourself to sleep. So you keep rowing. Your arms feel as if they would drop off. You let yourself drift for a while. One by one, the stars go out. The sun rises, the red glow slowly overtaking the sky.  
You must be hallucinating, you tell yourself. For you see a faint silhouette against the rising sun. The outline of a ship. It is heading towards you, but you doubt it has seen you. It comes closer and you realise it is not from Panem. You do not recognise the writing on the ship, nor the design. It is far larger than any ship you ever saw in District 4. You try to cry out for help, but your voice comes out in groans. You wave your arms to attract attention, and attempt to shout one last time, before the world goes black.  
You wake up to the gentle rocking of the sea, and find your bed is soft and warm. A jar of water lies beside your bed, along with some bread and butter. You devour them ravenously, finishing just as you hear your door open. A smiling man walks in, followed by an equally cheerful woman.  
He speaks something in a language you don't understand, but you figure out that he is happy to see you awake and is asking you questions about your home. You shake your head to indicate you can't comprehend what he is saying. He tries again, this time in broken English. _Home. Swim. Where. Name._  
You tell him whatever he wants to know as well as you can. You tell him you ran away and swum in the sea until you found the makeshift raft. You don't bring up the Games. He, in return tells you that his ship was headed for Panem, and after he picked you up, he had to hide you, because all ships going to Panem were being searched. For an escapee.  
You take a deep breath and thank him, ask him where you're headed now. He just smiles.  
You did not know there was a world beyond Panem. It was forbidden knowledge. It makes sense of course, that other people, other nations exist. They are breathtaking. Not just because they have beautiful landscapes and a large diversity of people. What strikes you is the _freedom_. Every citizen is equal, everyone has rights. They do not fight in a vulgar display of dominance for their government. No, they just smile and laugh and _live_.


	4. Epilogue

33 years later.  
"Mum! Listen to this!" Your daughter says excitedly. She hands you a newspaper.  
"Panem freed at last." You read. The Rebellion in the 74th and 75th Hunger Games. How the Capitol's monopoly was destroyed. You smile when you learn of each District's contributions. You cannot help the little tear that runs down your cheek. Memories and dreams of that sad but wonderful nation that you once called home. You run to your room like you have not run in years, and throw everything you need into a case.  
"Mum? What are you doing?"  
"Packing, sweetheart. There's a very long trip I have to go on."  
"What? Where are you going?" She asks, confused.  
"Home." You say, as though it has always been just that simple.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My first reader insert! For clarification, the main character is in district 8, that is, textiles. Please review!


End file.
